


Bright Lights

by goodluckjafar



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-06 15:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20294080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodluckjafar/pseuds/goodluckjafar
Summary: Musical Theatre AU where Baz and Penny are writing a musical and Simon auditions. Much angst, fluff and singing ensues.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!  
This is my first time writing fanfiction, so any feedback is greatly appreciated :)  
I hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

**Baz**

Audition days always drag on, but this one feels like it’s been going for years. I shift uncomfortably in my chair and try not to cringe as yet another hopeful belts out a rather pitchy rendition of _On My Own_ (the sixth one so far today). She finishes her cut and smiles broadly, obviously pleased with her efforts. Bunce gives her a noticeably strained smile and manages to force out a relatively cheerful ‘thank you for your time!’, before scanning our list for the next candidate. “Simon Snow?” she calls, and a man walks through the door.

The minute he comes fully into view, I almost fall out of my chair. Because Simon Snow is fucking gorgeous. Infuriatingly gorgeous. I don’t quite know why - he’s an average build, average height, and there’s nothing remarkable about his blue eyes – they’re just _blue_. But his skin is a pale gold, and the afternoon sun shimmers in his bronze curls as he slowly makes his way towards the table - and there’s something about the quietly confident way he holds himself that makes me melt.

Bunce seems almost as affected by the sight of him as I am, which is surprising. She’s sitting there with this unreadable expression on her face, any trace of tension or annoyance completely vanished. “He looks just like Heath,” she breathes incredulously, and I don’t know how I didn’t see it straight away. Snow is the spitting image of the fairytale-prince protagonist in mine and Bunce’s musical. Everything about him – from his dopey smile, to the light dusting of moles over his neck and cheeks – is exactly as I had pictured. He even looks like he’d be comfortable wielding a broadsword.

He steps towards me and cautiously sets his resume on the table, looking straight at me. I feel a hot flush start to creep up my cheeks, which is just ridiculous. Pitches don’t blush. But then he looks at me again, and I can practically feel my face turn the colour of the bright red folder in front of me.

I’m starting to think that he can’t possibly affect me any more, when he opens his mouth, and starts to sing.

** Penny**

I breathe a happy sigh when Simon starts his song. He’s chosen _It All Fades Away_ from _Bridges of Madison County_ – one of my all-time favourites (and unlike every song from _Les Mis_, I don’t hear it every fifteen minutes)– and his voice is rich and emotional. His diction’s a little poor, sure – but the way his classical baritenor rolls over the notes is enchanting. I can tell Baz thinks so, too. He’s leaning slightly forward, hanging on to his every mis-pronounced word. Simon’s voice crescendos up to the high A, and Baz’s mouth drops open. I can see he’s trying to hide it, but he’s impressed. I am too. For the first time in years, I let a candidate sing their song the whole way through. I’ve all but given him the role when he starts on his monologue.

To say that it’s a mess would be an understatement - I’m not sure if he’s nervous, or if he just has genuine speech problems, but he trips over every second word, and has to take a pause every few lines to compose himself. When I look over at Baz, though, he’s still staring transfixed.

** Baz**

Snow is an absolute wreck. And it should be a relief – it should. It should shatter the illusion and disenchant me with him entirely. But because I have the absolute worst luck in the world, it’s completely fucking adorable. I’m torn between wanting to snog him and wanting to punch him in the face for making me want to snog him.

I settle for an option somewhere in between the two, and stand up abruptly.

“Thank you for coming, Mr Snow,” I say coldly, “That will be all.” Bunce gives me a withering look, but I stand my ground. So does he. Literally. He just stands there, staring at me, a mixture of surprise, hurt, and indignation on his face. “That will be all,” I repeat, “You can go now”.

He turns slowly to leave, and I hear him start to cry as he walks out into the hall. I want to run and comfort him.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

**Penny**

What on earth is wrong with Baz? 

Sure, Simon's monologue wasn't going well, but our policy has always been to let everyone finish speaking - no matter how terribly they're doing.

And Baz clearly didn't think Simon was doing all that terribly. 

He'd just started to find his feet, too - the more he spoke, the fewer mistakes he made - and I was starting to seriously consider casting him again. But for some unknown reason, Baz decided it would be a good idea to stop him just when he'd gotten right into it. I give him my best 'you've-really-fucked-things-up-this-time-Basil' look, and he visibly shudders.

Good. Let him suffer. 

For the most part, the rest of the auditions are mediocre at best, but a few do make it to the callback list. A fairy-like blonde with an ethereal voice gives such an impeccable audition that even Baz (who rolls his eyes at me the second she walks into the room with her baby-pink resume) has to admit she'd play our leading lady Isabella perfectly. And there's a strikingly handsome American whose monologue makes Baz and me laugh until our sides hurt.

(He's definitely getting a callback. For his acting skills. And for... other...personal reasons.) 

Still, though - none of their auditions stick with me quite as much as Simon's - mistakes and all. 

**Baz**

I've really fucked things up this time. After sitting through a few more auditions, it's clear that Snow’s the best fit for Heath by far, even considering his linguistic shortcomings. And with the way I acted, he might not still want the role. I give myself a solid mental kick for being such a supreme arsehole, and try my best to concentrate on the few remaining auditions. 

Bunce stares daggers at me for the entire rest of the day, and as soon as the last candidate (completely tone-deaf, but an excellent actress) walks out the door, she turns to face me.

“What. The. Actual. Fuck. Basilton??” she yells, punching me rather hard in the arm.

It’s well deserved.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how well this one turned out, but let me know what you think!

**Simon**

It takes me about an hour longer than usual to get home from the audition – I just can’t stop _thinking_, no matter how much I try – so I get lost at least ten times. Finally, though, I make it into my apartment. I flip the light switch and the dim bulb flickers to life, illuminating the dusty, windowless space. The flat seems to have acquired a vaguely mouldy smell while I’ve been out, but I’m so glad to be home I don’t really care.

I unlock my phone to text my best friend Elly, when I notice she’s sent me a message already.

** ellybean:** Hey Si!!

**ellybean:** How was your audition? Mine went pretty well I think :))

I open the app and start typing.

**simonNO:** oh god

**simonNO:** elly it was the fukcing worst

** ellybean:** Oh, Si.

**ellybean:** What happened?

**simonNO:** so u know how ive been,,, like, obsessed with baz pitch’s music for as long as ive known u?

**ellybean:** You talk about literally nothing else. Continue.

**simonNO:** turns out baz pitch is a fucking terrible person

**simonNO:** just… the worst

**simonNO:** he just stood up in the middle of my monolog and tld me to go

** simonNO:** said that hed seen enugh

**ellybean:** Really? He seemed alright to me…

** ellybean:** A little distant, maybe – but nothing out of the ordinary.

** simonNO:** oh

** simonNO:** ok

**simonNO:** thats great 4 u then

I lock my phone and slump down on the lumpy grey couch in my living room. I just don’t get it. If Elly says that Baz seemed alright to her… why did he act like that in my audition? Was I really that bad? I know my monologue wasn’t great, but I thought my song was actually pretty damn good…

My phone beeps.

**ellybean:** Si?

**ellybean:** Si? Babe? Did I say something wrong?

**simonNO:** is typing…

I shut my phone off again and wander into the kitchen for a snack. The fridge is empty. Again. I make a mental note to visit the shops as soon as I get my next paycheck, and settle back down onto the couch for a nap.

I’m jolted awake a little while later by a rather violent series of knocks on my door. I pull myself up off the couch and sleepily open the latch. As soon as I do, the door swings open, and Elly trips into my apartment, her red curls flying. She lands with a loud ‘WHACK’ on my living room floor, but she’s laughing pretty hard, so I think she’s okay. Probably. She dusts herself off, and stands up, looking far more dignified than anyone who’s just collapsed in a heap onto her best friend’s peeling carpet has any right to.

“Simon Snow,” she says indignantly, “What have I told you about ignoring my texts?”

“Um… don’t?” I ask, rather nervously. To be honest, Elly kind of scares me sometimes. She sighs exasperatedly.

“Exactly. So tell me, Simon – why is it that you have not replied to the SIX messages I’ve sent you over the last hour?”

“Um… I… was asleep?” To be fair, it’s technically the truth. Although, I _did_ see her first two messages… She must see me looking guilty, because her expression softens.

“Look, don’t worry about it,” she says quietly, “I know you’ve had a rough day.” I don’t respond, and she pulls me into a tight hug. I lean into her embrace and shut my eyes tightly.

“Hey,” she says, “It’ll be okay. And, you never know – maybe Baz told you to stop because you were already so good he didn’t need to hear any more to cast you! Because let’s face it, Simon. You’re fucking incredible.”

“Maybe,” I say, but I’m not convinced. I know I fucked up the monologue, there’s no denying that. But I was just so nervous. Getting into that show means everything to me, and I was petrified I’d screw up my one chance.

And now, I have.

I’ve practically worshipped Baz Pitch ever since I first came across his music seven years ago.

When I was sixteen, I used to listen to his shittily recorded Soundcloud tracks for hours on end – or until one of the other kids at the home kicked me off the computer. It was just so fucking insane to me that someone my age could write something like that – music with soaring, romantic melodies and heartfelt lyrics - so unlike the shallow, electronic pop music that was played at school dances.

When he was seventeen, he and Penny Bunce wrote their first musical. It actually got to be a pretty big deal, and even made the front page of the local paper. There was this big colour picture of the two of them sitting cross-legged on what looked like a very expensive rug, sheet music and empty coffee cups strewn across the floor. He was rolling his eyes at her, but she was smiling playfully, and I could tell he wasn’t really annoyed. I still have that picture.

When I was eighteen, he and Penny moved to London to try and get their shows put on in serious theatres. When I found out, I scraped together as much cash as I possibly could, and got on the train to London. I didn’t really know what I was going to do, or where I was going to go, but I knew I had to make it into one of Baz and Penny’s shows. I worked and trained for years and years, until finally, _finally_ \- I got an audition. And because I’m a disaster, I blew it. Years of hard work, all for nothing. And on top of all of that, I find out the guy I’ve idolized for years is a complete git, and thinks I’m such utter shit he can’t bear to listen to me for more than five minutes.

Although they do say to never meet your heroes, so I guess I should’ve seen that one coming.

I guess I must have zoned out a bit, because I don’t notice Elly’s talking to me until she waves her hand in front of my face.

“Sorry, what?” I ask.

“I said, do you want to watch some Doctor Who?”

“Sure.” I take out the series four DVD Elly bought me for my birthday last year, and I’m about to press play when her phone buzzes. She checks the message and lets out a squeal, before covering her mouth with her hand, a guilty expression on her face.

“What's that?” I ask.

“Hm? Oh, it’s nothing,” she says, a little too quickly, “Just… a funny message from one of the girls at the café.”

The café. Shit. I’m late for work! I switch off the TV and start frantically searching for my name badge. Elly looks at me curiously.

“Late,” I stammer out, already halfway out the door, “For work. Ebb’s going to fucking kill me.”

Okay, maybe Ebb won’t _kill_ me. She’s way too gentle to ever hurt anyone. But if I turn up super late, she _will_ be disappointed – and I hate disappointing Ebb, especially after everything she’s done for me.

When I arrived here, I didn’t have a job, or an apartment, or anything. Ebb saw me sitting on the footpath outside her café after a few disastrous job interviews, and gave me work and a place to stay. She paid me generously – so generously I don’t know how she ever turned a profit – and eventually I saved up enough to move into my own apartment.

I somehow manage to make it to work less than five minutes late, and Ebb gives me a broad smile as I race through the door.

“Hiya, Simon!” she says excitedly, “Glad you’re here – the afternoon rush is about to start, and I need a hand with these scones!”

Christ, I love Ebb’s scones. She makes them in four different flavours – plain, blueberry, sultana, and sour cherry. The sour cherry ones are my favourite – they’re soft and buttery, and the perfect blend of sweet and sour. Ebb always makes a few extra for me, bless her. I eat them straight out of the oven, with really quite unreasonably-sized slabs of butter, and they’re heavenly. Sometimes I dream about them.

I’ve just thrown on my apron and grabbed the bowl of cherries when my phone buzzes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Simon :( :(


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz is a gay disaster. Elly is a gay disaster. Simon's just a straight up disaster, and Agatha and Penny somehow manage to have their shit together. 
> 
> ALSO I FUCKING LOVE FIONA

**Baz**

I can’t believe Bunce told my aunt on me. I get that what I did was extremely unhelpful, and really quite rude, but nobody, and I really do mean _nobody_ deserves to be yelled at by Fiona Pitch. Hell, Bunce knows this better than most.

And yet, Fiona’s here, stomping around my living room in her leather jacket and battered old Doc Martens, positively fuming.

“Are you telling, me, Basil, that you decided to ruin your best chance at a leading man just because you can’t deal with your gay panic?” She takes a sip from the beer bottle sticking out of her backpack and glares at me.

I roll my eyes.

“Not at all, dearest aunt. Snow’s audition was simply not up to my standards.”

Fiona’s face twists into a worryingly cheerful smile. Oh, fuck.

“Would you like a drink, Basil?” she asks, with dangerous sweetness.

I know it’s a trap. Fiona never offers anyone anything without an ulterior motive. But I’ve had a really shitty day, and I would actually really like a drink right about now, so I say yes anyway.

Fiona pulls a bottle of expensive whiskey out of her backpack (Jesus fucking Christ, how much alcohol does she have in there?), pours two glasses, and hands me one. I take a sip and sigh happily. Fiona may be evil, but at least she has standards.

I finish my first glass pretty quickly, and motion for Fiona to pour me another one. After a few (okay, it was more than a few) more, I’m a complete mess. Fiona sets down her glass and turns expectantly to face me.

“If you really must know,” I say, slurring my words slightly (but, in my very humble opinion, maintaining a remarkable level of composure), “The real reason I was rude to Snow is that he’s extremely fit, and it made me… a little flustered.”

Fiona beams.

“Ha!” she shouts, pointing at me, “I fucking knew it! You’re a complete and utter disaster. I’m so proud.”

“Oh, fuck off,” I say, but I can’t help but crack a tiny smile.

I get up from the couch and open my laptop. An email from Bunce pops up on my screen, with the subject line ‘Don’t be mad…’. Intriguing. I click the message and start reading.

**From: Penny Bunce < ** [ **penelopebunce@pbproductions.co.uk** ](mailto:penelopebunce@pbproductions.co.uk) ** >**

Today 3:45 PM

_Hi Baz, _

_I know we said we’d get together to discuss this all at more length, but we’re on a pretty tight schedule here, and I know we were mostly in agreement already, so I went ahead and sent out all the callback notices. Attached is a list of the actors who’ll be at the callbacks on Monday. If you’d like to add anyone, we can discuss that, but please note I WILL NOT remove anyone from this list. I apologise if this upsets you, but due to the time constraints, I felt it was necessary. _

_Affectionate regards, _

_Penny_

_p.s. Baz, I swear if you make fun of me one more time for how formal my emails are, I **will** choke you. It’s not ‘stiff’, it’s just polite. And you’re worse anyway, you git. _

I smile a little at that postscript. Sometimes I think Bunce knows me a little too well. I try so hard to stay removed, emotionless, and mysterious, but somehow she can see through all of that.

I think Snow could, too, if I let him get close enough. Which is precisely the reason I need him to stay far away from me.

I slam my laptop shut and pour myself another glass of whiskey.

**Simon**

Ebb frowns at me when my phone goes off. We’re not supposed to have mobile phones on us at work, but she knows how anxious I get about missing messages, so she lets me keep mine in the kitchen.

“Go on, answer it,” she says, picking up the mixing bowl, “I can manage by myself for a few minutes, don’t you worry.”

“Thanks, Ebb,” I say, grabbing my phone from the counter. 

On my screen is an email notification from Penny Bunce. I start to hyperventilate, and Ebb immediately rushes to my side.

“Simon? Are you alright?” I nod my head and try to slow my breathing.

“I’m – fine,” I gasp, “Just a little - surprised.”

Ebb nods, and goes back to the scones, giving me a worried look.

I should probably stop freaking out. For all I know, it could be a rejection email.

But what if it’s not?

I take a deep breath and open the message.

**From: Penny Bunce < ** [ **penelopebunce@pbproductions.co.uk** ](mailto:penelopebunce@pbproductions.co.uk) ** >**

Today 2:40 PM

_Dear Simon Snow, _

_We are pleased to offer you a callback for our upcoming musical “Isabella”. Should you choose to accept, you will be reading for the role of Heath. Please be familiar with the materials attached. Your callback is scheduled for Monday at 10:30am. The session is expected to run for up to fifteen minutes, however, you may be required to stay for additional chemistry reads. Please reply to this email to indicate your acceptance of the offer within 24 hours, or your place may be offered to another candidate. _

_Regards,   
Penelope Bunce. _

Holy shit.

I immediately type out an enthusiastic (and very badly spelled) acceptance, before bounding over to Ebb and showing her the email. She pulls me into a tight hug, and grins at me.

“I’m so proud of you, Simon,” she says, smiling, “But right now, we really need to get these scones in the oven!”

As much as I love baking with Ebb, I’m in too much shock to really concentrate, so I don’t enjoy it all that much.

As soon as I get home from work, I dive straight into the callback materials.

-  
The next few days seem like centuries, but finally Monday rolls around.

By some miracle, I arrive at the audition early, and so actually manage to get a seat in the waiting room. I end up sitting next to a very pretty blonde girl. She’s wearing a floaty lavender dress and expensive-looking chorus heels, and I can’t stop staring at the way her pale gold hair falls in soft waves around her face. After a few minutes, she turns and looks at me strangely. 

“Are you quite alright?” she asks, in a soft, delicate voice.

I turn bright red.

“Oh, um, yes,” I stammer, “Uh...hi. I’m Simon – Simon Snow.”

“Agatha Wellbelove,” she says, and gives me a tiny smile. 

I’m trying to work up the courage to ask her if she wants to grab a drink sometime, when Elly walks through the door.

“Simon!” she yells, and runs at me, almost crushing me as she wraps her arms tightly around me. “I didn’t know you got a callback!”

She loosens her grip and I take a moment to catch my breath.   
“I didn’t want to say anything in case you hadn’t got one,” I confess.

Elly nods.

“Me neither,” she says.

I glance back at Agatha to see she’s staring at Elly suspiciously.   
“Oh, sorry,” I say quickly, “Agatha – this is my best friend Elly Martin. Elly, this is Agatha Wellbelove.”

Agatha positively beams at her.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Elly,” she says sweetly.

Elly’s face turns the same colour as her hair, and then, for some unexplainable reason, she starts giggling. I don’t think she even realises that she’s doing it, because a few seconds later a mortified expression crosses her face, and she claps her hand over her mouth. I don’t know what’s gotten into her.

Agatha’s just staring at her with unreadable expression on her face, and when Elly stutters through an ‘it’s lovely to meet you too’, her smile is radiant.

Weird.

A few minutes later, Agatha’s name is called, and she waves us both goodbye as she walks into the audition room. Elly gives her a huge thumbs up, and Agatha winks at her. For some reason, Elly’s blushing again.

“She’s seems nice,” she says, dreamily

“Yeah, she really does,” I agree, “Actually, I was thinking about maybe asking her out… do you think I should?”

I’m not sure exactly how I was expecting her to respond, but I certainly wasn’t expecting her to shake her head quite so emphatically.

“Uh…no, Simon,” she says, slowly, “I don’t really think you should.”

Weirder.

I don’t have much time to think about Elly’s odd behaviour, though, because, right then, my name is called.

I make my way to the door, almost forgetting to be nervous.

But then, I see Baz Pitch sitting at the table, and my stomach drops to the floor. And I don’t know why – of course I knew he’d be here. But he’s wearing the same suit, his hair is slicked back the same way, and he’s looking at me with that same cool, removed expression – and all the memories of that dreadful audition come flooding back.

I am so screwed.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone's interested, here's a link to the song Simon sang in his audition:  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UVEkCujOHkg  
Jason Robert Brown is a literal genius. 
> 
> Also, Simon is 100% me in auditions. Song? Yep - got it. Monologue? No thanks.


End file.
